


pierced

by marmolita



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blood, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Consensual Violence, Endgame, Gen, Gore, Stabbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 16:47:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13908168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marmolita/pseuds/marmolita
Summary: Ignis's face is solemn but kind as he pours a potion over the wound.  "Next time will hurt less," he says.





	pierced

**Author's Note:**

  * For [introductory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/introductory/gifts).



> Hurt Noct week free day, and I've been sitting on this fic nearly a month waiting for it! I feel like I should apologize in advance for this. I'm sorry.
> 
> Warnings: blood, guts, gore, and we all know how this game ends.

There's not a lot of time. The power of the crystal thrums in his veins, and he knows that if he doesn't make it to the throne and complete the ritual soon it will destroy him from the inside out.

Might as well put that destruction to good use, he figures, and at least bring the dawn for his troubles.

Still, there's the matter of the ritual itself, and despite spending ten years absorbing the power of the crystal, Noctis still isn't quite ready. That's why he's alone with Ignis now, Gladio and Prompto having long gone to sleep.

"Shall I begin?" Ignis asks quietly.

Noctis nods, then says, "Yeah, go ahead," when he remembers Ignis can't see him. Even with the time they'd spent together before the crystal sucked him in, he still isn't quite used to Ignis's blindness. Ignis hefts his dagger, and Noctis sits up straighter in his chair. He's stripped down to his shorts to avoid ruining his clothes, and the thick layers of towels they've laid down under him rub harshly against his bare skin.

Ignis hesitates, the dagger held high. "Noct, are you sure--"

"Do it," he says. Ignis's lips press into a thin line, and he brings the dagger down fast, a targeted blow aiming to make it as painless as possible. It still knocks the wind out of him and hurts like a motherfucker when the dagger pierces his chest, and he can't help jerking and letting out a pained moan. "Fuck," he gasps as Ignis pulls the dagger back and pours a potion over the wound before too much blood escapes. "Can't even take one hit without flinching."

Ignis's face is solemn but kind. "Next time will hurt less," he says.

The next time doesn't hurt any less, but Noctis is better prepared for it. He holds still as best as he's able when Ignis runs him through, biting down on his tongue to keep from making a sound. Ignis pulls the dagger out and thrusts it in again, and Noctis's body betrays him. His hands grab at Ignis's, pushing the dagger away, breath coming in ragged pants.

"Shh," Ignis says as he breaks another potion. "You're alright, Noct. You took two that time, that's progress."

There are tears of pain trickling their way down his cheeks and into his beard. "Only eleven more to go," he says around the blood bubbling up in his throat.

***

It's not a thing Gladio or Prompto would understand. Gladio, sworn to keep him from harm, would never be able to hurt Noctis by his own hand, and Prompto might try but wouldn't be able to keep it together. Ignis, though -- Ignis will do it, because it's what Noctis needs, and because it's his duty.

He practices every night, or at least what passes for night in the endless darkness. The first night they don't make it past three hits, and use up a good stock of potions. The second night he makes it to six, biting down on a sock as an improvised gag so that if he screams he won't wake the others. They have to switch to hi-potions to heal the damage.

The third night Ignis breaks down and cries at the eighth strike, resting his head in Noctis's lap and sobbing while Noctis struggles to breathe, shivering from blood loss as the hi-potion knits his muscle and sinew and blood vessels back together. Noctis cards his hand through Ignis's hair, heart breaking for his oldest friend even as his magic pounds in his head for release.

"I'm sorry," Ignis says hoarsely as he recovers himself, wiping his nose on one of the dry spots on the towels. "I'm ready to continue."

They make it to ten that night before Noctis whimpers and jerks enough for Ignis's attack to just miss his heart, and they have to use a phoenix down.

"Tomorrow," Ignis says, stroking the side of Noct's face gently as he washes the blood off his chest. "We'll make it to thirteen tomorrow."

***

It takes two more days before Ignis stabs him in the heart thirteen times, and Noctis doesn't flinch or make a sound. As the red feather of the phoenix down dissolves into the air, Noctis summons his armiger. "The Royal Arms will be worse," he says, handing the Sword of the Wise to Ignis. "I don't know if I can keep them all out for you but I'll do my best."

Ignis stands in front of him, fist clenched around the hilt of the sword. "Noct, do you really think this is necessary?"

"I only get one chance to do this right," Noctis replies. "I'm not going to waste it."

He's right. The Royal Arms are worse. Each one tears into him differently, the Axe of the Conqueror cleaving through bone, the Sword of the Tall nearly slicing him in two, the Mace of the Fierce crushing his chest. The wet sounds of flesh tearing and the crack of bone breaking would make his stomach churn if he had much left of a stomach after each strike, and they go through so many phoenix downs Noctis starts to worry they'll run out.

They don't quite make it to thirteen. Noctis can't keep his concentration enough to maintain the armiger that long, but Ignis makes up the difference with his daggers so they can get as close to the real experience as possible.

It's messy. It's disgusting. It smells terrible. At the end of their session Noctis slumps down onto the floor, cradled in Ignis's arms, surrounded by his own blood and guts. "We'll go to Insomnia tomorrow," Noctis whispers.

"Can't we-- We can practice more," Ignis says hastily. "Spend a few more days working on it. I could--"

"Ignis, stop." Noctis takes Ignis's hand in his own and squeezes. "I'm ready. We can't waste any time."

"I don't want to lose you," Ignis says quietly, like it's a secret he's been holding in his heart for far too long. "What will I do without you?" His voice breaks at the end, and Noctis closes his eyes and holds Ignis's hand tighter.

"Be the king I won't get to be. Bring the people together. Build a new country." There are tears on both of their faces, but Noctis's voice is mostly steady. "I'm counting on you, Ignis."

Ignis takes a shaky breath. "Of course, Your Majesty," he says, bowing his head.

***

In the end, he can't keep entirely quiet when his ancestors attack, but he doesn't flinch either as they run him through. Their spectral forms don't leave behind the mess that they had in practice, but the agony of being speared over and over is the same. He's grateful to Ignis for his help preparing for this, and only wishes he had his oldest friend at his side to support him as the kings attack one by one, starting slow and then picking up speed until there's only one remaining.

The ghostly form of his father hovers next to the throne, and Noctis aches for him even as his body throbs with the burn of magic. Ignis had a lot of chances to practice being the one to kill him, but always with the knowledge that it wasn't permanent. His father has no such luxury. "Dad," Noctis says, holding out the sword, "trust in me."

The final strike hits home, slicing through his breastbone and pinning him to the throne. The magic that's been struggling to escape his body since he came out of the crystal is finally released, and the only thing left for Noctis to feel is relief.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to introductory for screaming about this terrible idea with me, r3zuri for encouragement, and misswonderheart the world's best beta for helping with the ending!


End file.
